


i've looked down at them, not knowing why

by Rustyanklebraclet



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: (sort of), Established Relationship, M/M, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29641704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rustyanklebraclet/pseuds/Rustyanklebraclet
Summary: “Dinesh. I’m fine. Leave me alone.”Dinesh doesn’t respond, frown deepening as he inspects the gash on his cheek.“That looks bad.”“What?”“The cut. It’s gonna get infected if you just leave it. And then I'm gonna have to drive your sorry ass to the emergency room, which neither of us want.”He hesitates, only momentarily, before jerking his head toward the hallway and stepping out of the doorframe. “Come with me.”
Relationships: Dinesh Chugtai/Bertram Gilfoyle
Comments: 11
Kudos: 24





	i've looked down at them, not knowing why

**Author's Note:**

> homoerotically tending to another persons wounds is the best trope to exist ever in the world. i accept 0 argument i know im right.
> 
> mild warning for breif descriptions of blood/minor injuries. honestly though i have huge huge blood problems and im the one that wrote it so. probably youll be fine but better safe than sorry.
> 
> title from bag of bones by mitski

It’s late.

It’s just Dinesh and Richard left in the workroom- most of the house has gone to bed, bar Gilfoyle, who left hours ago, without so much as a goodbye. Just walked out the door without a word.

Typical.

“I'm done for the night, man. I’m going to bed,” Richard says, shutting down his computer. “You probably should too.”

“Oh, yeah, I know. It’s just-” he gestures vaguely to his computer, even though he’s been done his work for a half-hour now. He’s just dicking around with his existing code, and is probably gonna end up creating more problems for himself.

Richard frowns. “You sure?”

Dinesh nods, and Richard pauses.

“You don’t- If this is about- If you’re worried about Gilfoyle-”

“Christ, Richard,” Dinesh interrupts, feeling his cheeks flush with heat “why would I be worried about that prick? I’ve just got a lot of work to do, okay? Is that alright?”

Richard nods, hastily getting up and walking away, down the hall. “Yes, yeah, of course, sorry. totally. Yeah.”

He mumbles to himself all the way down the hall, until Dinesh hears his bedroom door open and shut. He goes back to his computer, shaking his head. What a dick.

He’s not _waiting_ for Gilfoyle. He’s just prolonging his work because he doesn’t feel tired yet. Not because he’s fucking _worried_. They don’t have that kind of relationship.

Are they friends? Sure, maybe, even though they both hate admitting it.

Does Dinesh prefer his presence to anyone else in the house? Of course he does, but that’s only because the bar is so low- Gilfoyle just happens to be the least insufferable.

Have the two of them hooked up a few times? Yeah, okay. But that doesn’t mean anything. They’re not like that- never have been, never will be. They don’t worry about each other. Richard is an idiot.

Twenty or so minutes later, it occurs to him that he really is starting to fuck up his code. He’s considering that maybe he should get to bed, when he hears a key in the lock.

He turns to see a figure, the shadow unmistakably Gilfoyle, stumbling in. it’s dark in the hallway, the only light coming from what spills over from the workroom, so Gilfoyle is bathed in shadow, but he’s slumped over in a way that definitely isn’t right. Almost in spite of himself, alarms start to sound in Dinesh’s head when Gilfoyle gives a particularly harsh cough as he attempts to pull his jacket off.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

Gilfoyle jumps a bit, head shooting up to look over at Dinesh. “Nothing.”

Dinesh frowns. “Not nothing. You look like shit.”

Gilfoyle doesn’t respond, and Dinesh stands up, going over to where he’s still wrestling with his jacket.

“Dinesh, fuck off. I’m not in the mood.”

“Dude, seriously. What’s-”

Dinesh cuts himself off on a sharp inhale as Gilfoyle looks at him, face angled right for the light to catch it and reveal a black eye, a split lip, and a large gash on his cheek. The frame around one lens on his glasses is cracked, on the eye where he’s been hit, and there are several other small scratches on his face.

“Holy shit.”

“I told you to fuck off. It’s not as bad as it looks, I’m fine.”

He finally manages to pull his jacket off, tossing it over one arm and going down the hallway, slight limp to the way he walks not going unnoticed by Dinesh.

“Where even were you?” he asks, trailing behind as Gilfoyle reaches his bedroom, tossing his jacket onto a chair. Dinesh rests against the doorframe as Gilfoyle busies himself with pulling his boots off, keeping his back to the door.

“Out.”

Dinesh watches for a couple minutes as Gilfoyle wrestles with his boots, before he straightens up and turns around. A brief expression of surprise passes over his face when he sees Dinesh, sort of like he hadn’t expected him to still be there.

“Dinesh. I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

Dinesh doesn’t respond, frown deepening as he inspects the gash on his cheek.

“That looks bad.”

“What?”

“The cut. It’s gonna get infected if you just leave it. And then I'm gonna have to drive your sorry ass to the emergency room, which neither of us want.”

He hesitates, only momentarily, before jerking his head toward the hallway and stepping out of the doorframe. “Come with me.”

Gilfoyle lingers for a second, before letting out a long-suffering sigh and following him to the bathroom. Dinesh flicks on the light, before setting down the toilet seat, gesturing for Gilfoyle to sit down. He does, and Dinesh moves to the cabinet under the sink, digging around for the first aid kit he knows Jared keeps in there.

“Is this a sex thing?” Gilfoyle asks, watching him set it on the counter and sort through its contents “do you have some sort of doctor fetish that I’m about to find out about the hard way?”

Dinesh doesn’t respond, soaking some cotton in antiseptic.

“This is gonna sting,” he says, holding it out to Gilfoyle’s face, who just rolls his eyes.

He starts to wipe away the blood, sticky where it’s congealed against his face, and relishes just for a moment in the way Gilfoyle winces. _Told you so, asshole._

But that fades, and he continues to clean it, dropping the used cotton into the overflowing wastebasket and inspecting the cut.

“It looks alright, actually. I think it just bled so much because of where it is. You don’t need stitches or anything.”

Gilfoyle grunts in vague acknowledgement, and Dinesh is putting everything back in the kit when he hears the sound of a lighter clicking. He glances over to see Gilfoyle, freshly lit cigarette hanging from his mouth.

“Erlich’ll lose his shit if he finds out you’re smoking in the house.”

“Erlich’s in bed. And he’ll just blame Jian-yang if he smells it. That’s what he usually does.”

Dinesh shakes his head, but says nothing as he puts the kit back under the sink. “Are you gonna tell me what happened?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Dinesh, Mother of lucifer,” Gilfoyle huffs, standing up, glaring down at where Dinesh is still crouched in front of the cabinet “You don’t have to pretend to care about me because we fucked a few times.”

Dinesh rises, too. “That’s not why I’m doing this.” 

Gilfoyle just scoffs, and Dinesh feels anger actually start to rise in his chest.

“Has it occurred to you that I actually care? Or was that too much for your emotionally stunted brain to process, given that it would interfere with your whole brooding fucking i-hate-everyone-and-everyone-hates-me thing?”

Gilfoyle continues to glare at him. Dinesh is right in his face, now, hand still hanging in midair from him waving it around while he spoke. Gilfoyle takes a long inhale of his cigarette, shakes his head, and surges forward to kiss him.

* * *

Dinesh wakes up in Gilfoyle’s bed the next morning, and finds the space next to him empty.

He retrieves his clothes from Gilfoyle’s disgusting floor and wanders out into the kitchen, where Jared stands at the counter, drinking coffee and looking over several charts in a neatly organized binder.

“Good morning, Dinesh!”

Dinesh gives him a tight-lipped smile. It’s not even seven and he’s already so goddamn chipper- Dinesh will never understand this man.

“Have you seen Gilfoyle?” he asks, going to pour himself coffee.

“I believe he’s out back,” Jared says, and Dinesh nods, mumbling a quiet “thanks” as he slips out the sliding door.

Sure enough, Gilfoyle is sitting on the ground next to a lounge chair, _Drink Coffee Hail Satan_ mug in hand. He glances toward Dinesh when he steps out, but doesn’t acknowledge him.

“Hey,” Dinesh says, standing next to him, scuffing his socked feet against the concrete. Gilfoyle gives a sort of half-hum, but says nothing. 

“Why are you on the ground?” he asks, but Gilfoyle just shrugs, and he’s learned by now when to cut his losses and move on, so he drops it. He sits down on the chair next to him, and they’re quiet for a moment, surveying the still patio. The sun is just coming up, and Dinesh admires the way the light shines across the surface of the pool.

“I’m not good at this,” Gilfoyle says, rather abruptly, and Dinesh cranes his neck to look down at him, confused.

“Good at what?”

Gilfoyle takes a sip of his coffee, waving his free hand noncommittally. “This. relationship stuff. Being a boyfriend.”

Dinesh pauses, not sure where he’s going.

“I’m saying that if that’s what you want from me, you need to-” Gilfoyle sighs, running a hand through his hair. Dinesh doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this worked up over something like this (maybe over anything). It’s sort of alarming.

“If you’re after a proper relationship, I'm really not your guy. Don’t think I am.”

His hand drops from his head, and moves to pick at a spot on the frame of the lounge where the paint is flaking off. Dinesh watches him, several things clicking into place.

“Your big revelation is that you’re a jackass? You think I somehow went this whole time without knowing that?”

Gilfoyle huffs a laugh, looking up to the treeline, a small smile playing across his face. “Fuck you.”

“Yeah, you’d like to.”

Gilfoyle laughs again, and they’re quiet for a little bit longer. The sun is almost all the way up, now, and there’s the faint sound of Erlich bellowing through the house about god knows what (it must be bad, if he’s up this early).

Dinesh absently reaches for his mug, before realizing it’s still sitting on the counter next to the pot.

“Damn,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Left my coffee inside.”

Wordlessly, Gilfoyle passes him his own mug. Dinesh hesitates, before accepting it, and taking a long sip. He passes it back, and hears the soft _clink_ of it being set down on the pavement.

Gilfoyle shuffles, and Dinesh feels a press of weight against the side of his leg, and he looks down to see Gilfoyle's head resting gently against it.

“Don’t say a fucking word,” Gilfoyle says, threat immediately dampened by his small hum as Dinesh reaches a hand up to card through his hair.

“Sure thing,” Dinesh tells him.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://ieatthefish.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/HOMINGPIGE0N) if you want
> 
> As always, any and all feedback is appreciated :)
> 
> Much love, Clover <3


End file.
